


I Want It That Way

by vix_spes



Series: The Bardcore Verse [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon Ships It, Established Relationship, Friendship, Humor, Jaskier is a troll, Jaskier | Dandelion Goes To Kaer Morhen, Kaer Morhen's Fanon Hot Springs (The Witcher), M/M, Winter at Kaer Morhen (The Witcher), Witcher Boy Band
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-21 16:29:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30024603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vix_spes/pseuds/vix_spes
Summary: Geralt had had plans for the winter. Specific plans. Ones that involved him and Jaskier naked. He hadn't quite planned on Jaskier having plans of his own.Plans of a more bardic nature. Plans that he was planning on involving all the inhabitants of Kaer Morhen in...
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: The Bardcore Verse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2173050
Comments: 6
Kudos: 64





	I Want It That Way

**Author's Note:**

> I am indulging myself as it's my birthday and also because cydonianlady encouraged me to turn this into a 'verse. I would read [What is Love?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24713821) first. Inspired by this video [I Want It That Way](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xpxCu2q_99A)

Had Geralt really been determined that he was going to make it compulsory that Jaskier spend every winter in Kaer Morhen?

He took it back.

Every single word of it.

Lies, all of it lies.

Jaskier was never spending winter at Kaer Morhen again. That was it.

Oh, who was Geralt trying to fool.

Last winter, Jaskier had been in Oxenfurt rather than Kaer Morhen and Geralt had hated it. Ciri had been spending the winter with Yennefer and so it had been just the four of them – Geralt, Eskel, Lambert and Vesemir – for the first time in a few years. There hadn’t even been Aiden or Coën to take the edge off things.

It had been a nightmare. Geralt had been like a wounded bear for the whole time, missing both Jaskier and Ciri like missing limbs, and responding by alternating sulking and trying to beat the shit out of his brothers in training. Lambert and Eskel hadn’t been much better, having got used to having Jaskier there with them. Lambert had been his had been even worse than his usual prickly self given that Aiden had opted to stay with the Caravan and Eskel had responded by drinking twice his body weight in Lambert’s moonshine spiked with White Gull. Vesemir had just despaired of the lot of them.

Then again, it was Jaskier taking a teaching position and wintering at Oxenfurt that had got them in this mess in the first place. And after Geralt had fucked up on the hunt for Villentretenmerth and sent Jaskier away for months before Geralt had been able to apologise and get him back, he had no intention of sticking his foot in his mouth and losing Jaskier again.

The long and the short of it was, whatever way he looked at it, Geralt was fucked.

He had been for the whole year and not in the fun way either. Oh, there had been plenty of the fun kind of fucking but that hadn’t been the only thing.

The student in Oxenfurt who had prevented Geralt from breaking Jaskier’s door down had said that the bardic competition between Jaskier’s class and that of Valdo Marx would decide the unofficial best bard on the continent. Unsurprisingly, or at least as far as the wolves of Kaer Morhen were concerned, Jaskier’s class had won. The mistake that they had then made was assuming that that would be the end of things.

He hadn’t expected that the bloody thing would follow them across the Continent. Then again, Geralt had never thought that ‘Toss a Coin’ was going to catch on in the way that it had. They had heard it in Cintra, it had followed them through Dol Blathanna, it had echoed around The Unlaced Corset in Gors Velens and not even Kovir had been safe.

They’d come across Eskel and Lambert during their travels over the year and neither of them had been able to resist tormenting Geralt like the fuckers they were. Eskel had actually started humming the tune of what had become known as _‘Witcher Thy Woundest’_ during a contract on an archgriffin, while Lambert drunkenly bellowed the nonny, nonny chorus across a crowded tavern and then promptly fallen over because he was laughing so much.

To top it off, Lambert had apparently taught the damn song to the Dyn Marv caravan and when Geralt and Jaskier had run across them south of Brokilon, they had burst out into chorus. It was the most godawful caterwauling. None of them could hold a tune, at all. Well, maybe Aiden and Gaetan were passable, but the rest were a disaster. Probably not helped by the fact that half of them were laughing so much they could barely breathe.

Jaskier, of course, was delighted by the whole thing. He had clapped and laughed, complimenting and offering gentle critiques by turn. He had even demanded an encore, pulling out his beloved lute to accompany the verse and actually conducting the chorus.

Geralt should have seen what was coming then. He had been complacent though, relishing in the fact at having Jaskier back by his side.

As the weather took a turn and the wind held the chill of the forthcoming winter, Geralt found himself holding his breath, terrified that any day now Jaskier would turn around and say that he was returning to Oxenfurt for the winter. If that happened, Geralt was completely certain that his brothers would kill him. And even Vesemir would probably get in on the action. Any time a contract took them into Temeria, Geralt felt fear that this would be the moment Jaskier would take his leave for a few months. So, Geralt felt an overwhelming sense of relief when he tuned back into Jaskier’s rambling one day to hear him say ‘I can’t wait to see everyone again this winter, do you think it will just be the six of us? Or do you think Aiden will join us?’

“You’re coming to Kaer Morhen then? For winter?”

“Of course, I am. Why wouldn’t I?”

“I … don’t know. I suppose I would have expected you to want to return to Oxenfurt given how successful you were last year.”

“And that’s precisely the point, my dear Witcher.”

Geralt frowned, “I don’t understand.”

“The key to all of this is to keep them wanting. If I returned to Oxenfurt every year, then they would get sick of me. They wouldn’t be as eager to have me return. Last year, my class earned me the reputation of best bard on the Continent and the work that I’ve done this year has cemented that. They need a year without me to be reminded why they ask me back. To remind them why they love me. Which means I get a whole winter in Kaer Morhen with my favourite people.”

If Geralt’s chest had puffed out a little at that, well, no-one needed to know.

~*~

The first couple of weeks had been blissful.

Knowing how much Jaskier hated the cold weather – and how much more difficult it made things for Geralt – they had made their way up the trail several weeks earlier than Geralt normally would.

The first couple of weeks it had just been the two of them - and Vesemir – but they had only really seen him at mealtimes. They had spent most of their time in their room or indulging in the hot springs.

Eskel had arrived first. Ciri was a scant day behind him, Coën following a few days later before Lambert and Aiden arrived mere hours before the trail became impassable with snow.

All of Geralt’s favourite people in one place.

Mornings were taken up training Ciri. In the afternoon, she went and spent time with Jaskier while Geralt, Eskel and Lambert focused on repairs of Kaer Morhen with the help of the others. Every night before dinner, they would make their way to the hot springs before stuffing themselves with whatever Vesemir had cooked for the evening.

They were about four weeks in when Jaskier had voiced his suggestion. A suggestion that Geralt was so surprised that he dunked Jaskier in the water.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard you correctly.”

“I thought it would be fun if we had a choir of sorts.”

“No, I heard you correctly. Am I hallucinating? Did I fall off the wall during morning training and hit my head on the courtyard?”

“Rude.”

“You say that. Have you heard any of us sing?”

“You can hardly be any worse than the Cats.”

“I though you said that they were good?”

“The role of the teacher is to be encouraging at all times…”

“Hmm.” To say that Geralt wasn’t convinced was an understatement.

Unfortunately, he was the only one who thought it was a bad idea.

Ciri had been bouncing in glee at the prospect of the Witchers singing together and Coën had been similarly enthusiastic, spending several afternoons with Jaskier writing lyrics. Lambert was led by his prick so, as soon as Aiden had agreed to participate, Lambert was also in. At least Geralt knew that he could count on Eskel.

He had been so convinced, that the betrayal that Geralt felt when he saw Eskel accept a lute from Jaskier one evening was huge.

“Are you taking the piss? Eskel, not you too?”

Geralt hung his head as Eskel – his one hope for some sense – arched an eyebrow. “Two words, brother. Fisstech. Succubus. This is nothing.”

“I hate you all. Can the lot of you stop encouraging my fucking bard?”

“We know you’re fucking him, Geralt. The entire keep has been able to hear you since we arrived.”

Geralt swiped at Lambert, growling as the slippery bastard managed to dodge him.

Coën. Aiden. Ciri. Eskel. Lambert.

They had all betrayed him.

All encouraged by his bloody bard.

(~*~)

Several weeks later, Geralt had to begrudgingly admit the annoying truth; they were actually good.

Geralt always forgot how musical Eskel was. If he hadn’t been given to Kaer Morhen, if he had had a different life, perhaps he would also have graduated from Oxenfurt _summa cum laude_ in the Seven Liberal Arts. Now though, he was just being a pain in the arse as he let Jaskier guide him through the motions of remembering how to play the instrument. He had a good voice as well, though he wasn’t confident.

Lambert, Aiden and Coën were rough around the edges – if not downright bloody awful – but Jaskier had set himself a goal and a Witcher choir he was going to have. He was a harsh taskmaster. More so than Geralt had expected. In many ways, he was reminiscent of Vesemir when Geralt had been a trainee, but with a softer edge. His critiques were always tempered with what they had done well, no matter how small, and he was unfailingly encouraging. Encouraging though Jaskier was, he was also demanding and, more than once, Lambert had whined for mercy and the need for alcohol.

And then there was Ciri.

She may be Geralt’s child surprise, her time now spent between Witchers and Yennefer, but she had been brought up in the Cintran court. Calanthe might not be a traditionalist, but she had seen that both Pavetta and Ciri had had the appropriate education for someone of their status. Not only that, but Jaskier had done what Geralt had been afraid of and spent time in Cintra with Ciri every year. He had been the one to teach her how to play the lute, how to sing and how to read music. Even now, she had a clear voice that, while it wasn’t as good as Jaskier’s, was far and away an improvement on that of the Witchers.

Being a child of the court, Ciri had also been taught how to dance and she now employed that skill on the men that had trained her. Displaying many traits of her grandmother, and no little influence of Jaskier, she drilled the men that she called her uncles. Forced them to put their Witcher training to another use.

Unsurprisingly, Aiden was the best dancer of all of them. Maybe it was something to do with the way that the Cat School trained. Coën was also rather graceful, certainly more so than the Wolves. Jaskier and Ciri tried to hide their laughter but were far from successful, particularly when Lambert tried to show off for Aiden and managed to bring everyone else tumbling down to the floor with him. Geralt had smirked at that and the glare he received in return promised retribution in training the following day.

Yet, no matter what his brothers did, Geralt remained impassive. Sat watching but refusing to participate. No matter what was said or done to persuade him otherwise.

Oh, who the fuck was Geralt trying to convince? Jaskier hadn’t tried to convince him yet. Instead, he just stood there while everyone else attempted to convince Geralt to participate with a small smile playing on his lips that did things to Geralt. Geralt could claim that he wasn’t going to sing as much as he wanted but he couldn’t say no to Jaskier. Hells, Jaskier could probably convince fucking Letho the Kingslayer to sing this ridiculous song.

And it was ridiculous.

Jaskier had decided that they were performance ready, and that said performance would take place after dinner. Geralt wasn’t entirely sure that he was ready for it but that wasn’t going to change anything. Jaskier performed _‘Toss a Coin’_ first with an insouciant grin followed by ‘ _Witcher Thy Woundest’_ accompanied by a smirking Eskel and hoots of laughter from Lambert. Finally, they moved onto Jaskier’s newest composition.

_Thou art Mine Fire  
Mine own desire  
Believe, when I quoth  
I crave it hence way_

The lyrics weren’t in Jaskier’s usual style. They were more florid, perhaps influenced by Coën and the courtly nature of the Griffins.

_Sayeth why, Tis naught but a heartache  
_ _Sayeth why, Tis naught but a mistake  
_ _Sayeth why, I never wish thou to proclaim,  
I crave it hence way_

The lyrics were clearly about him. Geralt couldn’t quite decide if they were better or worse than _‘Toss a Coin’_ or _‘Witcher Thy Woundest’._ Honestly, the best thing would be if Jaskier could stop writing songs about him, but that wasn’t going to happen any time soon. Besides, as uncomfortable as it made Geralt to be immortalised in song, it did make things easier in some respects.

_No matter the distance, I wouldst thou know  
That deep down inside of me_

As Lambert, Aiden and Coën managed to synchronise a move and Ciri cheered, Geralt wondered what people would say if they could see them now. The fearsome and loathed Witchers forming a choir and performing dance moves because two humans had asked them to. It was hard to comprehend and Geralt was a Witcher himself.

_Thou art Mine Fire  
Mine own desire  
Believe, when I quoth  
I crave it hence way_

Geralt felt his resolve crumbling as Jaskier – for the first time in the song – took the lead. Jaskier focused on him and it was as though no-one else in the room existed. This song had been written about Geralt and Jaskier was singing it to him. Against his will, Geralt found himself singing along with the final chorus, his quiet baritone joining in with that of his brothers. Words that had buried themselves in his subconscious over the last few weeks.

_Sayeth why, Tis naught but a heartache  
_ _Sayeth why, Tis naught but a mistake_  
Sayeth why, I never wish thou to proclaim,  
I crave it hence way

And he was rewarded.

Geralt had seen that look before. He knew that look well. It promised a happy, horny bard and a well-sexed Witcher.

The embarrassment of singing was not something that Geralt intended on repeating. Ever again. However, as Jaskier passed his lute into the safekeeping of Eskel before literally flinging himself at Geralt and pulling him into a passionate kiss, climbing Geralt like a tree, Geralt knew that he wasn’t convincing anyone.

He would do anything to keep Jaskier happier and he didn’t want it any other way.


End file.
